


Adventure Strikes

by skytramp



Category: Mortal Engines Series - Philip Reeve
Genre: Gen, tiny baby tom and his parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 15:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3452483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skytramp/pseuds/skytramp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Rebecca carried her son to the door and sat him down. “Run you silly boy, don’t be late or you might miss an adventure! You never know when adventure will strike!”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventure Strikes

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this over a year ago and just found it on my blog. I'm actually pretty proud of it and I'm choosing to be one of the main Mortal Engines authors on AO3, so here it is.

David Natsworthy straightened his robes in the reflective metal plate near the front door. It was going to be a long day at the museum, but it would start with a meeting with the head curators and he knew those dusty old farts would judge him something harsh if he waltzed in with crinkled robes or fly-away hairs. He was a tall man, well built, but slightly balding and the Historians Guild Mark between his eyebrows only accentuated that fact. 

"David, hurry you’re going to be late!" Rebecca rushed into the room thrusting a sack lunch towards her husband, likely full of a stale chunk of algae bread smeared with imitation meat substitute.

"I’m hurrying, I’m hurrying, where’s Tommy boy anyhow?" David glanced around, looking for his son, who was probably scampering around the small house somewhere. 

"He’s eating his breakfast, David, let him be, you know the boy will hardly eat if you interrupt him." Rebecca kissed David quickly and gave him a light shove towards the door. "Go, before you’re late and old Pomeroy sends me a very harshly worded letter about your performance." She said with a laugh as David left, letting the metal door slam behind him. 

"It’s time for school, Thomas, hurry up in there!" Rebecca yelled as she walked back towards the small kitchen. Her robes were tattered, older ones that she’d had for nigh on a decade, and they ran tight across the breast and waist. Her short brown hair was tucked behind her ears and her Guild Mark showed over the rim of her glasses as she studied the stack of memos on the dining room table. Most were thin paper, fuzzy from many recyclings, just Tier 4 community notifications, a couple nicer memos from the Historian’s Guild recognizing Rebecca’s achievement in cataloging the remainders of an ancient language from before the 60 Minute War, a birthday card for Thomas. 

Tom walked out from his room with his school bag in hand. It looked heavy, certainly weighed down with those adventure books Rebecca found him reading when he should be asleep. 

"You know you don’t have to take _all_ your books when you leave the house? Certainly it would be easier to leave all the ones you’re not reading at home for the day?” Rebecca chuckled as she walked towards her son, sweeping him up in a big hug.Tom laughed and squirmed in her arms. “Ugh, that bag is heavy! You’re too heavy, boy, when did you get so big?” She made a show of walking slowly, as if she was weighed down by the weight of all of tier 3 above her rather than the weight of her six year old son and his books. She carried him to the door and sat him down. “Run you silly boy, don’t be late or you might miss an adventure! You never know when adventure will strike!” She had to call out the last words down the crowded alleyway as Tom had begun running as soon as he was asked. He disappeared in the crowds, headed toward the Tier 4 Elevator Station. 

Rebecca shut the door slowly, reveling in the moment of silence when the house was empty. All she could hear was the hum of London’s engines and the smaller sounds of daily life outside her door. She dropped her old robes on the floor of the hallway as she walked towards her study. It was always too hot in the house, and no one was here to judge her for working in her underclothes. Her desk was a jumble of papers. Stacks upon stacks of notes occasionally interspersed with a priceless artifact or evidence of ancient grammar techniques. She was a historical linguist, and she believed that only through the diligent study of words of the past could we understand the words of the present. Or at least that’s what she’d announced on the day she graduated the school for Historians and became a full fledged guild member. Her mother was so proud, she was a seamstress down on 6 and, Rebecca suspected, had never truly believed that her daughter could make it all the way through school to become an honest to gods guild member. But Rebecca was tough and she stuck to her guns. And when she’d graduated, then shortly afterwords met a shy David Natsworthy who was hopeless with translations trying to explain the cultural significance of a sculpture from the Blue Metal Culture to a few beginner students, she fell head over heels with his easy smile and the look in his eyes when he saw her. 

She sat down at her desk and began work. She had half a language to transcribe and three difference grammatical interpretations to propose, and that was just before lunch. 

______

David Natsworthy reached the Guild Museum with a scant two minutes to spare before the curator’s meeting and all the primping and smoothing he’d done had been dissolved into a wrinkled sweaty mess after his run from the elevator station. 

"Ah yes, Guildsman Natsworthy, come in here, we were just about to get star- By the Gods what happened to you son?" Chudleigh Pomeroy exclaimed upon David’s entry. 

"The Tier 4 elevator station was packed, had to run most of the way to make it here on time, sorry Sir." David said, as he took his seat. The room was wood paneled, like most of the museum, and a very different look than the rest of metal-plated London. There was a large table in the room, certainly an antique, and a variety of Historians sat around it at intervals, looking this way and that, waiting for Mr. Pomeroy to begin their meeting. 

—

Rebecca was elbows deep in papers, her glasses slipping down her nose with her tongue suck slightly out the side of her mouth when David came through the front door and it closed with a slam. 

"David?" She called, standing up. 

"Yeah, Bec, I’m just back for a minute." He said as he jogged down the hallway and into the study. "whoa, what’s going on in here?" David said with surprise, as he saw Rebecca’s ink stained arms, mussed hair and underclothes.

"Nothing, dear, just work." She said with a flip of her hand. "What was it you’re back for, again?"

"Oh, I forgot my notes on pre-traction food processing. I was supposed to discuss them in this meeting." He sounded tired, and sighed deeply. "But maybe I can take more than a minute." He stepped towards her, making a show of looking her up and down before taking her into his arms and kissing her softly. 

"David, I can’t." She pulled away only an inch or so. "I’ve got tons of work." He kissed her neck and his hands were in her hair, cupping her head and holding her close. He pulled away. 

"Thank you." She stepped back, smoothing herself and looked around prudently. "Now where did you leave those notes, hopefully not on my desk?"

"No, I think they’re on mine." He walked to the other side of the room. His desk was more orderly, but only just. There were many papers, most appeared to be part of this stack or the other, but the stacks seemed to be without rhyme or reason, laying haphazardly over one another.

As David searched stack by stack Rebecca watched him. His shoulders were hunched as he leaned over the desk but he was still taller than her, his robes that were unwrinkled this morning were now covered in dust and rumpled. And when he stood up straight, attempting to wipe his forehead with his palm but accidentally knocking one of the only orderly stacks to the floor, she knew she still loved him just as much as she had the first day. 

—

Tom sat through his morning classes idly dreaming of the books in his bag. He loved history, but he loved more of the sort where adventuring men were bravely saving damsels, fighting villains and discovering lost civilizations, and the detailed history of London’s first rolling year was dreadfully boring in comparison. When it was time for lunch Tom opted to sit reading his books, rather than running and shoving around the other children, as kids like Melliphant liked so very much to do. He ate his lunch in peace and silence, lost in the worlds he loved.

It took him until the screams started to realize that the sounds of buckling tier supports and the harsh screech of metal on metal wasn’t something that he’d been imagining. It was a far away sound, but it must certainly be loud. The teachers came out to the school yard and began ushering the children inside. Tom hesitated. He was near the gate and certainly no one would miss him if he just snuck out to see what was making such a racket? He thought of his mother’s words, _you never know when adventure may strike_ , and decided to make a run for it. Shoving his book into his bag and hitching it up onto his shoulder he quickly ran out of the school yard gate and towards the direction where he’d heard the sounds. 

When he reached the Tier 2 Elevator Station he caught site of the goggle screens. They were showing a loop. It was a burning pile of twisted metal, and when the camera panned up it looked like the tier was open to the sky. The rubble looked nothing like what Tom knew of the upper tiers, and no lower tier should have that much sunlight. It took him a few minutes to read the scrolling words as they passed across the bottom of the screen. Something about Cheapside… tier supports…. collapse…..casualties….. Tier 4. 

Thomas ran for the elevators. He could only think of getting home, back to Tier 4 to see his Mother. Certainly she was scared, she needed him there and she’d be worried about him too. The elevator was crowded and the many adults shoved him to the back and he smashed himself into the corner, unable to see the buttons or even the door. He listened for the sounds of the doors instead, concentrating on the stops. First Tier 3, and then 4. As the door’s opened the second time the elevator emptied except for an Engineer and someone who appeared to be a GUT worker. Tom scurried after the crowd. There were people everywhere, running this way and that, but it wasn’t difficult to find where the tragedy had struck. In the distance he could see sunlight streaming down through what had to be a 40 foot wide gap in the underside of Tier 3, which hung directly above the streets of Tier 4. He followed the light. It was strange, he thought, seeing the shop fronts of Tier 4 bathed in sunlight, seeing it on people’s dirty faces. _How will the house look in all this light? It will be great_ , he mused as he jogged down the street. 

He turned the last corner, down the alley he’d run that very morning and stopped dead. The alley was cut off by a larger girder, 15 feet of smouldering metal lay in front of him, blocking the path. He couldn’t see beyond it, so he endeavored to find a way around. He spun quickly on his heels, intending to run back the way he came but he was stopped by a collision with a man. He was in the livery of the London Police and held a baton in his hand. 

"Whatchu doin’ down here, son?" he said, taking Tom by the shoulders.

"I’m going home sir. I usually go this way, but the way is blocked. I’m just going to see my mother." Tom looked the man in the eye as he spoke, being respectful the way his father taught him. 

"Ain’t nothin’ left down there, son, if your house was down there ‘t ain’t no more." Tom looked over his shoulder attempting to peer beyond the girder without any luck. 

"Just let me see, sir. I need to see my mother and she’s right on the other side of that thing."

"Ain’t lettin’ you go that way, boy, go ‘round to the street, maybe someone’ll help ya there." The officer said, letting go of Tom’s shoulders and allowing him to dodge past and towards the main road.

As Tom turned the corner to the road he caught sight of a group of people, one of which wore the black robes of the Historian’s guild. As he got closer he could see it wasn’t his father, this person was smaller, slight, a woman perhaps. When he reached the group the woman turned. It was Miss Plymm. Her face was covered in tears and she gasped as she saw him. 

"Oh Thomas! Thomas what are you doing here?" She exclaimed and knelt down, gripping Tom’s hands in her own. 

"I heard the crash and came to see mom. Sorry I left school Miss Plymm." Tom didn’t understand why she was crying, but felt like he should apologize if he’d disappointed her.

"Oh Thomas." She pulled him into a hug and held him tight for a few seconds then slowly pushed him away. She took a deep, ragged breath. "Tom, Thomas." She paused. "Your Mother and Father, they, that is, they were at home, when the Cheapside fell." She paused again, looking for signs of recognition in Tom’s eyes but he hadn’t yet grasped what she was telling him. "They’re gone, died. It fell on your house, Thomas. I’m so sorry." Tom blinked, looking over his shoulder in the direction of the bright sunlight. The smoke from the burning homes was getting thicker now, and he could see it curling and wisping as it rose into the air, obscuring the sun and turning the light a dark red color. He thought, if this was how adventure struck, he’d never believe in it again.


End file.
